


Lost

by ShadowLink720



Series: Planeswarden Travellers [3]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Minor Character Death, endgame spoilers too y'all know the drill, sort of a crossover, spoilers for olberic's chapter 3 and 4?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowLink720/pseuds/ShadowLink720
Summary: There are a near countless number of worlds that exist in parallel. They all mostly share similarities, but some worlds differ more than others. Sometimes, one difference can bring the world in question to an untimely end.There is one string of worlds, however, that has gained knowledge of this. Many who have lost their worlds have bound together in order to save others from their fates. When the task proves too great, they can at least grant any survivors a new home.Olberic keeps getting caught up in his past, and that causes a lot of problems.





	Lost

Olberic is aware only of his opponent.

The sound of steel clashing against steel seems to hurt. How long will he keep standing? How much more can he take?

At this point, it’s a fight of attrition.

He has sustained many wounds - they both have - but they are both still standing.

No wounds seem to hurt more than the pain in his chest, however.

If anything, that is the pain that will be his undoing this day.

He has tried to talk, but words failed him. Just as he has failed to protect King Alfred, the liege he swore to die protecting.

The fight comes to a standstill, both sides trying to anticipate the next move.

Erhardt lunges, seemingly for a strike from the right.

But his movements are slower than usual. His eyes are distant, hollow. There is no fire behind them.

At the last second, Erhardt shifts and changes the hand that grips his blade from his left to the right.

But Olberic has seen this once before.

He knows Erhardt trained himself to use his right hand just as well as his left, in secret.

…

Where has he seen it before?

The fight goes on, with Olberic slowly gaining the edge.

Eventually, Erhardt is left bloodied and near death. He’s barely conscious.

 

This memory is not how Olberic remembers it.

Olberic had failed that day, on that battlefield.

So how is he still standing?

 

Ah.

 

He’s not reliving a memory of eight years past. They are not in Hornburg. They are in the Lizardman den near Wellspring.

 

Erhardt lies before him, barely clinging to life. Olberic’s sword is poised at the other’s throat.

 

He can’t muster the strength.

Olberic’s heart cannot bear it anymore.

 

_ His eyes. Curse his eyes. _

 

Olberic falls to the ground, but he swears he can hear voices.   
His vision goes dark.

 

* * *

Olberic knows he will waste no time leaving Wellspring.

They have been told that Erhardt will live, but that it’s unlikely he will properly wield a sword again.

When Captain Bale had asked how they got in such states, Olberic had told them that they were wounds from the lizardmen.

A lie that still makes him sick, still burns in the back of his throat.

But good Gods, what else could he have told them? The  **truth** ? That he had made an attempt on Erhardt’s life? That…

 

That he had taken everything from Erhardt. Everything he had rebuilt. Everything he was doing to atone.

 

Knowing Erhardt, he would try to pick up a sword again anyway.

… But does he really know Erhardt at all?

_ You Gods damned coward. _

 

“Olberic…!”

The voice is familiar.  _ Too  _ familiar - Olberic recognises it in an instant.

His head turns, but only slightly. He dares not look at Erhardt.

“Where… Where are you going?” Erhardt’s voice is rough. He has not recovered. Gods, what is he doing walking about so soon?

“Away.” Olberic tries to hide the quiver in his voice.

“I… see.” Erhardt pauses, and his voice becomes softer. “You despise me that much, do you…?”

“It’s not…” No words come to Olberic. They never do when they matter most. “It’s not that.”

He needs to change the subject.

“Erhardt, do you…” He begins to think this is not a good idea. “The one who orchestrated the fall of Hornburg. Who was it?”

Erhardt remains quiet.

“No, you shouldn’t go after him.”

“I have to.”

“You must  _ not _ .”

“Just tell me, Erhardt.” Olberic’s voice rises, more so than he would have liked.

Another moment of hesitation from Erhardt.

“... His name is Werner. Last I heard, he was in Riverford.” Before Olberic can continue walking, however, Erhardt reaches for his wrist. It’s a weak grip, telling of how he needs more rest.

Olberic still refuses to face him, but he can feel those eyes boring into the back of his skull.

“Do not go after him, Olberic. Trust me. You wouldn’t stand a chance.” His voice is so quiet. Almost  **pleading** .

“Maybe I don’t. But Gods be damned if I don’t at least attempt.” Olberic pulls his arm away. He has to leave now, else he never will.

If he succeeds, he should find redemption for his failure in Hornburg. If he fails, he will die.

Olberic realises he cares little for the outcome anymore.

 

* * *

Riverford is practically falling apart. Olberic had managed to get past the gate, with some advice from a travelling merchant who was in the queue to get in before him.

And, of course, the first thing to greet him were the stakes in the centre of the square. It only solidified the oppressive atmosphere.

But now he finds himself involved in an uprising. It turns out Werner is still here, and is the usurper lord of the town.

Nothing more than a tyrant, but Erhardt’s warning still rings in Olberic’s ears.

A larger group of rebels were causing commotion in the square, to distract most of Werner’s forces. Olberic accompanies the leader, Harald, along with other rebels to infiltrate the manse.

They were close.

 

But Werner had been expecting them.

Arrows rained down, killing more than half of the rebels.

_ No. _

In the supposedly secret passage into the manse, was Werner.

The one who brought down Hornburg. There, in front of them.

Olberic finds it hard to breathe. He doesn’t even bother to focus on what Werner says, he simply tries to think of a way to get to him. Alas, the raised platform he and his archers are on seems too tall to scale.

More arrows are loosed.

Heading for…

_ You Gods damned fool. _

The arrows hit their marks - one neatly landing in Harald’s chest.

He falls to the ground.

It’s Hornburg again.

It’s  _ always  _ **_Hornburg_ ** .

Harald coughs up some blood, but his eyes are dull. He grows weaker by the second.

 

The light in his eyes fades.

 

Olberic had failed again.

 

Do the Gods despise him so much that they must force him to keep going?

Apparently so.

 

Werner leaves, but Olberic follows. He follows Werner right into the manse.

 

Their swords will clash. One has to fall this day.

 

Only, there will be no redemption. Not even atonement.

 

* * *

Following Werner’s death, Olberic had quickly, and quietly, left Riverford.

And so he wandered - terrors plaguing his nights and regrets haunting his days.

He did not return to Cobbleston. He did not return to Wellspring.

How could he?

His hands can only kill. Can only sow the seeds of misery.

To protect someone, no matter how dear, is a dream long gone.

By now there must be some rumours of his death.

In a way, they would be right. He is naught but a corpse, trapped in his past.

 

Olberic’s aimless wandering has found him in the ruins of Hornburg.

Why did his feet bring him here?

Likely to repent.

 

As he keeps walking, he relives the fall of Hornburg again.

But not just that…

He remembers the time before, as a knight.

Of his home, even of his childhood...

Of Erhardt.

 

… Olberic does not recognise the structure before him.

But the gate seems to be… beckoning, almost.

The doors, however, are open. Open enough for a person to fit through.

 

He has nothing left to lose, so he decides to step through.

 

What greets him is what could only be described as hell.

There is nothing to be found here, at least nothing good. The stench of death, something all too familiar to him, fills his senses.

Olberic discovers there is no gate to return through. Instead - an endless expanse of… nothing.

This place is cursed, that much is true.

But, ah, ‘twould seem he is too, so... maybe his presence here is fitting.

Who can say how long he spends there. Time here feels both infinite yet at a complete standstill at the same time.

Until, of course, Olberic finds something before him.

An unholy, malicious, overwhelming presence.

 

It strikes for him.

 

And he keeps fighting back.

…

Why is he fighting back.

Every fibre of his being is begging for him to stop, to escape, to get away from…  _ that _ . Already, he has sustained bad wounds that could be fatal if untreated.

But he continues to ignore it all.

As foreign as the sword in his hands now feels, his grip remains tight.

Above the din of the hideous thing, he hears something - something that reeks of that same unholy power as the one he fights.

He spares a glace, just for a moment.

The very reality around one particular area seems to… change. It tears open as though it were a thin fabric.

He hears shouting.  _ People  _ shouting.

But he cannot make out what they are saying, and only distantly feels himself be pulled towards the rift as he finally loses consciousness.

 

* * *

Olberic wakes up very suddenly.

And then, mere moments later, comes the awful, foreboding sense of fear.

He sits up, fully alert. ‘Twas a mistake, as pain rushes through his entire body.

Trying to distract himself, he looks around.

The stars are bright. Brighter than he has ever seen them, even in the most remote areas of the Highlands.

They seem distant. Different.

The entire room is grey, and there are strange objects everywhere that Olberic has never seen before.

The door opens, and two people enter the room.

He recognises them both, though one more so than the other.

The one he recognises most is the hunter from S’warkii, H’aanit. The other… seems to resemble the thief he ran into in Boulderfall. He never caught his name.

It is only a resemblance, however. The thief he met did not have such pointed ears, or such odd eyes.

H’aanit’s brow furrows, concerned. “Thou should not be up, Sir Olberic.” She quickly makes her way over, and gestures for him to lie down again.

He does not, of course.

The one behind her sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t say we never told you…”

H’aanit casts a cold glance over, before turning her attention back. “Pray, pay Therion no mind.... He doth not treat people as he should.”

Therion huffs, folding his arms.

Olberic realises that there are marks resembling scales around Therion’s eyes.

And… now that she is closer, Olberic can also see some patches of H’aanit’s skin are a stone grey.

The questions only increase in his mind, but they go unasked.

Well, all save for one.

“What happened?”

His voice is so quiet. Though, to be fair, he has not used it properly for weeks, maybe even months at this point.

H’aanit seems to be contemplating how to answer, but Therion speaks up. “Galdera was revived, and they destroyed your world.”

Another icy glare from H’aanit.

The words feel so distant. Olberic feels so disconnected.

It doesn’t feel real.

Therion speaks again. “You’re the only one left of that world, just like I’m the only one from mine, and H’aanit’s the only one from hers.”

Another quiet moment.

“... Do you even realise what you were doing? Fighting a dark God that holds the power over life and death?”

H’aanit briefly cuts him off. “Hypocrite.”

It’s Therion’s turn to cast a cold look, before he turns his attention back to Olberic. “Be thankful you’re even alive. I had to resort to using  _ blood magic _ to get you out of the Gate.”

… Blood magic.

“Then why did you?”

Olberic’s voice is louder now.

Therion and H’aanit seem somewhat taken aback.

Olberic repeats the question. “Why save me at all?”

They both stay silent. Therion scratches at his neck, long claws catching themselves on the scale-like patterns on his skin. He then growls, and turns around.

“I can hear a fair deal of the thoughts in your head like you were saying them out loud. And they piss me off.”

H’aanit sighs. Such a heavy sigh it is.

Therion turns his head to look back at Olberic, and his visible eye narrows, with his pupil following suit. “You had nothing to do with the revival of Galdera. There is no blame on you. You want to know why we saved you? Because - whether you like it or not - your world has been destroyed. We try to stop that happening, but nothing can stop Galdera once they’re free. So we did what we could instead - we saved you. We saved you and we’re giving you another chance. Another purpose for your life.”

Therion makes his way for the door while H’aanit looks on, speechless.

Therion looks back one last time, and growls from deep in his throat. “Don’t be so quick to throw yourself away like that. I thought you noble types would fight until your dying breath or whatever nonsense and then some. You really gonna prove me wrong about that?”

And with that said, the door slams shut.

H’aanit eventually composes herself. “I am… deeply sorry. Thou should not be spoken to so... harshly.”

Olberic stays quiet. He can’t tell what he’s feeling.

H’aanit continues. “... Pray, get some more rest, Sir Olberic. I shall retrieve Ophilia and Alfyn, who will look over your wounds.” A pause. “... Do you know of them?”

Olberic can only muster a slight nod, his gaze fixed on the stars outside.

H’aanit takes a moment to assess his state, and then promptly leaves - leaving Olberic back to his own thoughts.

 

Even when he thought he had nothing, the fates still seemed to find something to take from him.

He doesn’t understand what Therion meant by what he had said, but perhaps… he has a point.

Perhaps he can find a new purpose to his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Our third part is.. chronologically the last one! yeah..  
> The moral of this one is.... please just let Olberic be happy, writing this made my heart hurt.  
> (the designs and some brief/vague notes here - https://linkys-art.tumblr.com/post/178706249268/planeswarden-travellers)


End file.
